Senior Year
by partypoison69
Summary: High school AU. Gerard's on the football team and his brother has no friends. When Gerard gets introduced to Frank and his band by Mikey, he has to choose between his football team and the scholarship, and the band and the guy he loves.
1. Chapter 1

The sky was a clear blue and the air was cool. The first signs of spring were showing, even though it was only late February. Daffodil stems were already growing along the edge of the football field where Gerard and Danny were shooting balls at Jared, who was stood in the goal. The competition season was drawing closer and they were practicing harder than ever, especially Jared, who was a new student that year and had only been goalkeeping for two years, needed the most training of them all. He managed to block most of Danny's balls but had more difficulty with Gerard's, who was team captain and best striker of the team. Gerard kicked the ball almost gracefully and landed the ball with a neat swerve in the goal. Jared lay on the grass, defeated.

"Nice one, Gerard!" called Danny, who admired his captain a lot. He was still a freshman, like Gerard's little brother, but he had shown so much skill and talent during break one autumn day at the beginning of the year, that Gerard had convinced the Coach to let him play on the team. Danny was forever grateful and was determined not to let Gerard or the Coach down.

"Thanks, Dan!" Gerard grinned at him, knowing it was a great shot, and landed another through Jared's legs this time and into the goal.

"Come on, Leto! Amateur's mistake!" Roared the Coach from across the pitch into his favourite microphone. It was decorated with slogans like 'go Tigers!' and 'failure is not an option.' The slogans had seemed to work after all, since the Tigers had only lost one game last season and had proceeded to win the cup.

"Hey, Gerard! Over here!" called Mike. Only Gerard was allowed to call him Mike and Coach Pedicone made that extremely clear to the rest of the team. He said it was because Gerard was captain and all, but they all knew Pedicone favoured Gerard. It was to no one's surprise, because Gerard was a brilliant player and had scored the most goals for the past three years he'd been on the team. He had also started as a freshman, like Danny.

Gerard jogged coolly over to his Coach, already grinning, as if he knew what Mike was going to tell him. He did, of course, but he needn't let his Coach know that. It was the talk of the school and most of the town, anyway. This year, victory would be his.

"You know you've got a big season coming up, right, Gerard?" Mike stated, slapping Gerard's sweaty back. "Well, if you don't blow it, there's a lovely shiny scholarship waiting for you." He winked, as if sharing classified information, which is pretty much was, or was supposed to be.

Trying his hardest not to show he'd known all along that the scholarship would be his this year, he beamed at the Coach, "I won't let you down. You can bet on it!"

He ran back to where Danny was bent over Jared, who was pretending to die dramatically in his goal. He signaled to them that practice was over and the trio went to the changing rooms on the other side of the field near the school.

Gerard couldn't help but feel a sense of triumph. That scholarship would be his, finally. He had done everything in his power to earn it, and not just to receive it because his competitor was terminated. Each year the senior captain got this scholarship and the townsfolk had to pretend they weren't surprised at the choice. Everyone had expected it to be Sam, but he got injured in a particularly violent match at the beginning of the school year and would probably never walk again. Gerard became the new captain after they heard the news that Sam would be in hospital for at least three months. He was out of hospital now, but was being home-schooled until he became more independent and the school had built ramps for his wheelchair.

Danny had rushed home after he got dressed, leaving Gerard and Jared in the changing rooms discussing tactics for the upcoming season. Toweling off, they talked about pretty much anything from how hot Katy looked in that mini skirt today or the grotesque amount of homework they had this week. Jared had only just started this year, but they were already firm friends.

"Look man, all you've gotta do is make sure you have contact with me. I'll tell the other players what to do. You've then got only half a goal to defend," Gerard explained, making a goal with hand gestures. "Walls aren't that hard. Just gotta stand in the right place, see where the ball is and if you read the body language of the striker, you can easily tell where the ball will end up, okay?"

Jared nodded uneasily. He was a brilliant player, but making walls was difficult for him. Gerard knew it was difficult so he tried his best to help Jared any time he could. Which was why he was captain, naturally.

Gerard threw a T-shirt over his head and buckled his belt. Throwing his bag with his football gear over his shoulder, he left with Jared on his heels.

"Cafeteria's shut now. D'you wanna take a pizza or – ?" Gerard asked.

"Nah, I gotta get home. It's, like, gone seven. And we're having stew, and Mom murders me whenever I miss her stew."

Watching Jared turn the left corner, Gerard wished he had someone else who would come with him to take out a pizza. He walked home alone, switching the blue and gold bag from one shoulder to the other. He was still wearing his blue and gold letter jacket. He enjoyed wearing it. That way people could see he was on the team and was heading for greatness. That way people knew he was the one of only about three students in the senior class who would actually leave the state to study. He was going to get the scholarship and he was going to get out of here. Out of Belleville, out of New Jersey, out of his mundane life. The same life every teenager in Belleville lived until they became whatever their fathers or mothers did. They'd end up working in an office or having children who would end up being exactly as boring as they were. Not Gerard. Gerard was getting out and it would happen soon.

"Oh, my God, honey," was all Gerard could hear over the sound of his mother smothering him. "I'm so proud of you," he picked up too and when he finally freed himself from his mother's iron grip, he saw his little brother smiling up at him from the dinner table. Mikey was proud of him, too. Even though he never showed much emotion on his face most of the time, right now it was totally obvious he was very happy. His smile was adorable, Gerard thought. Mikey and he were really close even though they were four years apart. Mikey was smart though, so he was moved up a year and now went to Belleville High School, too.

"Just wait until I tell your father!" Oh, Gerard!" She squealed and pulled her eldest into another bone breaking hug.

"I've not won it yet. Calm down, Mom," said Gerard, wrestling his way out of his mother's arms and sitting down at the table next to Mikey.

"Oh, but you will. I'm sure of it," she replied, petting his hair affectionately and rubbing his shoulders before going back into the kitchen.

"Mom, what's for dinner?" asked Mikey, jotting down a few more equations into his workbook.

"You just asked that, sweetheart. Do I have to repeat everything ten times?"

"But Gerard doesn't know yet and I forgot," Mikey sounded hurt. He stared down at his workbook full of failed attempts at graphing functions. Looking at his brother, he asked if he'd help him because he didn't understand quadratic functions at all or how to find the maximum if a function was given. He just couldn't do it. Gerard moved his chair closer and put his arm round his little brother and took his pencil in his other hand and showed him exactly which numbers to divide by what. Giving up, Mikey shoved his book away saying he'd never get it anyway.

"Mikey, come on, you've just gotta look past all the stupid numbers and just do it, okay? So, to get the maximum, just divide the second number in the equation, the b, by twice the first number in the equation, the a. Come on, this shit is easy peasy pumpkin peasy," Gerard tried. "Look, I'll write it down for you," he scribbled the sums down and told Mikey to use that sum for every time he needed the maximum and left him to it for a while. Going into the kitchen, he smelled the familiar scent of homemade pizza.

"Smells good, Mom," said Gerard, sneaking some cheese out of the bowl, licking his fingers. "By the way, when's Dad home?"

"Should be in about," she paused checking her watch, "five minutes. Could you lay the table, honey?"

"Sure, Mom," he answered. "Mikey, clear that shit off the table, we're gonna eat!"

At that moment Gerard's father walked in the door, putting his suitcase down and greeting his wife with a warm hug. Donna struggled to get out of his arms and rushed over to Gerard and grabbing his arm gesturing wildly for him to tell him his story.

"Well, Dad, I might get a scholarship this year," he grinned sheepishly while his mother gushed and beamed everywhere. His dad hung his coat up and strode over to Gerard and pulling him into a tight hug.

"I'm so proud of you, son," he said, meaning it. Gerard stood there, his arms flailing wildly as he tried to tell his Dad he hadn't exactly won the scholarship yet and that he still needed to win the season, but that was no problem at all because Gerard was a great player and they just needed to train Jared just a bit more, but it was all going to work out fine.

Out of breath, Gerard plodded back onto his seat next to Mikey, who was sat staring at his placemat with utmost concentration as if it held the answers to all life's questions. Gerard saw a small tear escape from the corner of his eye before his Mom placed their pizza's in front of them, demanding they eat quickly before it all got cold. Promising himself he'd talk to his brother later, Gerard started to practically inhale his pizza. He hadn't noticed how hungry he'd gotten when he was outside. He barely ate anything at school anyway, because the cafeteria food was absolutely disgusting and the general store was too far away to get some sandwiches from during break.

The dinner passed with constant enquiries from his mother about the upcoming competition and encouraging cheers from his father in between bites that he was 'going to show them' and 'kick their asses' and lots more along the lines of that. All conversation at the dinner table was always about his football. Gerard didn't mind at all, but when he saw Mikey staring at his pizza as if caught in a marijuana induced stupor, his grin faltered. After finishing his pizza and announcing he didn't want pudding, Gerard went up to his room and he saw Mikey quickly following suit. Clearly he had understood the brotherly 'we need to talk' eyebrow gestures Gerard had been making for approximately half an hour.

Mikey sat on the bed, wiping his eyes and staring up at Gerard. It wasn't like he wasn't proud of his brother or that he thought he didn't deserve the praise he got. He loved his brother and was convinced he was going to make it big one day. He was going to be a star. The only thing bothering him was the fact that Gerard was the only one ever to have someone be proud of him. Mikey never had that. He never had anything that he was particularly good at never mind how hard he tried. He felt he'd never be good enough, at least not as good as Gerard. Not good enough to receive praise from his parents instead of them acting like he didn't exist most of the time.

Having recounted this all to Gerard for the first time in his life, he didn't know if he was supposed to feel better or to curl up in a ball and hope he disappeared forever. His skin crawled with the knowledge that Gerard was simply staring at him, previously unaware of the inner torment Mikey was going through and now utterly perplexed as if the thought of his little brother wanting perhaps an atom worth of attention from his parents, was completely ridiculous.

"Mikes, I – " Gerard started, seemingly at loss for words. "I had no idea," he finished.

"Well, you wouldn't. You're so busy with your football and your girlfriends and your schoolwork and – Gerard, you always manage it. You always, always manage. I have the physical condition of a koala. I'm not intelligent, I have no hobbies, and no friends, and no girlfriends, and I just can't do it. Everything is just so easy for you, Gerard."

They sat together in silence for a while for they had nothing left to say to each other. As much as Mikey tried to make his older brother understand his situation, he wouldn't understand. Or couldn't. It didn't matter. This was going nowhere anyway. Standing up to leave, Mikey threw one last half-angry, half-disappointed look at his brother before leaving the bedroom. He still needed to fill in the dishwasher anyway so there was no use staying upstairs longer. His parents would only get more annoyed with him. He was almost like Cinderella, the way they all made him tidy up but he refused to feel sorry for himself and proceeded to load the plates one by one into the dishwasher before taking a long, hot shower and throwing himself into bed. He drifted off into a dreamless sleep instantly.

"Pass it! Pass it, Gerard!" Mike yelled from the other end of the pitch. It was amazing how far his voice could carry.

His way was blocked by Danny and Evan. Danny wasn't hard to pass, but Evan was a greater challenge. With no choice, Gerard passed the ball backwards towards James and circled around Evan who was momentarily distracted by Gerard's swift footwork. With a beautifully improvised assist from James and a skilled kick from Gerard, the ball landed in the back of the net.

"Nice one, Dewees!" Mike bellowed and then, "Leto, get off the floor!"

"Yo, James, great assist," Gerard beckoned for his friend to come over with his head. He slammed him on the back, like all the athletes did. It was normal. It was the thing to do and they did it without even thinking most of the time.

"Thanks, man," answered James, grinning.

"Team, hit the showers!" ordered Mike.

As they traipsed off the pitch with muddy boots and grass stains practically everywhere, they all simultaneously noticed the group of cheerleaders heading their way. Gerard noticed Avril, Hayley and Kelly among them. They were totally awesome and he would do almost anything to get into their pants, he admitted to himself. He shared this desire with plenty of his teammates, apparently, as Evan immediately wolf whistled at his girlfriend and Danny flushed slightly and James' eyes immediately went to the fronts of their shirts. Gerard knew well enough to steer well clear of Avril, though. She was really short but, hell, was she hot and, sadly, unavailable. He noticed Hayley make her way over to them, giggling with Kelly and another girl he didn't know the name of.

After a few minutes of small talk, mainly about the party at Hayley's house that weekend and the upcoming football season where the girls would be cheering them on, Gerard made clear he needed to shower. No one objected and the guys followed him into the changing rooms where they would continue to discuss every single cheerleader's ass in turn and making the obligatory 'I would tap that' remarks.

Slinging on their blue and gold letter jackets they all loved to show off in the school hallways, they departed for their homes, splitting into groups of two. Gerard lived in the other direction of Jared so he walked home alone. Usually he was really chatty and always could make small talk, but he was knackered and really just needed a lie down. Talking about how much he was getting laid didn't really appeal to him much right now. Jared was constantly talking about how much ass he was getting, but Gerard was convinced he made half of it up.

With bleeding fingers, Frank put his guitar down next to his favourite Marshall amplifier and kracked his tattoo clad knuckles. He wasn't old enough to have gotten them legally and the freshmen stared at him in awe whenever he walked by. They'd been playing for a good hour and a half and it was time for a break since Pete announced his bladder was going to burst if he played one more note. It also gave Patrick chance to have a drink. He was wearing his vocal chords out and Frank was surprised his voice was more than just a faint croak by now. Without turning any of the buttons on the amp back to their original setting – Frank hated when people did that because that meant he'd have to reset it back to his favourite tuning and that took forever to get right – he flicked the off switch and the room was engulfed in silence. For a moment they just sat on the stage of the auditorium together and Bob climbed out from behind his drum set and Pete came back from the bathroom. Bob sat himself down next to Frank, who was lying spread-eagled on his back, and said Pete had really improved on the bass since last month, especially on the previous song.

"Really? Aw, thanks, man," said Pete, blushing. He had laid down next to Patrick, who had drank almost his weight in mineral water, Frank guessed, and put his head on Patrick's lap.

"Yeah, really," Frank added, "I mean, you've always been pretty good but you really fucking nailed that solo. It really sort of flowed, y'know? We all played _together_ for the first time. That's what it felt like."

"Wow, that was deep," Bob chuckled and nudged Frank's knee with his right foot. "But, I agree. Remember when you could only play the bass line in Seven Nation Army and you thought you were the best bass player in the world?" They all laughed, remembering the arrogant ass Pete had been in Sophomore year.

The entire auditorium was deserted except for the stage, where Bob was still nudging Frank with his feet, trying to get a reaction, but Frank needed a few days to sit up properly so Bob pulled him up and put his arm around him. Pete was busy retying Patrick's shoelaces, while Patrick played with Pete's hair, grinning from ear to ear. Ray was sat polishing his guitar next to his amp, which was stood a few metres away from where the rest was sat.

"Guys," Frank began, resting his head on Bob's shoulder with his eyes closed. "Guys," he repeated, opening his eyes to make sure he had everyone's attention. Pete looked up from where he was practically sprawled all over Patrick who was still fiddling with Pete's hair.

"I know you guys hate the battle of the bands, and you make a point of it each year by vandalizing the posters, but –" he ignored Ray's disgusted looks and didn't see Bob furrowing his brow. "What if—, what if this year we actually participate? We never do and all the bands that do, really suck. We've improved since freshman year and we can easily win this. We'll show them how it's really done."

Looking genuinely pleased with himself, Frank looked at his friends, who showed little sign of enthusiasm. Patrick was the only one who was still looking directly at Frank. The rest was either shuffling around nervously, like Pete, or frowning at the floor. Bob and Ray both looked disgruntled – except Bob always looked disgruntled due to his permanently furrowed brow and inability to smile - and Ray took a deep breath, which Frank had learned was a sign that he was about to start a longwinded speech.

"Look, Frank," began Ray, stuffing his guitar picks into his pocket and making his way towards the rest of the group, "the reason we never participate is because the people who do, are desperately trying to be cool, to be with the in-crowd, which is precisely what we vowed we would never do. To participate would be to break that vow and you can't expect me to do that. I don't expect you to either."

Frank made a 'arghghg' noise and exhaled deeply. "Man, don't you ever get tired of it?" he looked at Ray, frustrated.

"Tired of what?"

"Following those stupid rules you made up."

"They're not stupid. And, no." Ray folded his arms and looked hurt, but still maintained a furrowed brow, which annoyed Frank.

"They _are_. It's so tiring not being able to do stuff I want without you breathing down my neck that I'll be labeled as a sellout, that I want to be "cool" and it's just so _dumb_," Frank made air quotation marks with his fingers. "So what if Coca fucking Cola is more popular than Pepsi or what the fuck ever? So what if the battle of the bands is only for jocks and popular people and not people like us? I want to do it, because I think it'd be totally awesome and it would be fun. You know I don't give a fuck about being cool. Why do you still make such a big deal out of it?" he made another 'arghgh' noise and looked at Ray expectantly. He was glad he'd finally gotten that off his chest; he'd been wanting to say it for month since Junior year had started and Ray had adopted this hipster way of life, wanting to be uncool and denying the rest of the group anything they wanted that would be considered 'cool'. Ray was surprisingly persuasive, mostly because he was the nicest person in the world and you didn't want to make him angry. Frank had never actually seen Ray angry, but he expected it would be hilarious since he had such a nice face. He still sort of got the feeling that Ray would shun him if he ever found out that Frank did anything cool with popular people. It wasn't as if Ray hated the more popular kids at school, but it was more like he disassociated himself with them. He was totally fine with people in general and he was always nice to everyone, but he just plain refused to join in with activities that were led by the student committee. Frank didn't understand Ray at all anymore.

"So," Patrick broke the silence. Frank had half expected Ray to go on a rampage and destroy the drum set or something, but Ray just looked at him understandingly, nodding his head slowly, his arms still crossed.

"So," Patrick repeated, rising from where he was sat with Pete. "We don't mind doing the Battle, right Pete?" Pete nodded and grinned up at him, holding his hand. Pete was still kind of nervous about playing in front of crowds but Patrick squeezed his hand and told him it was totally okay to be nervous. He had been singing ever since he learned to talk and he still got nervous, even just singing with the band.

"But, guys, I don't want to do it if Ray's gonna act like a total asshole," said Frank with his head in his hands.

"Look, man, if it pleases you and it stops you nagging at me… okay. I'll not act like an asshole. I mean you deserve to do stuff you like and, y'know, it's really kinda selfish of me to not let you do that so, uh, you get the go-ahead," Ray relaxed his shoulders and ruffled Frank's messy hair. Frank looked like a kid who just received the coolest toy in the world from his parents. Bob, who still had his arm round Frank's shoulders, squeezed him and Frank snuggled up to him feeling like the happiest dude in the world.

"Awesome," he told Bob's sweater. Sitting up, he added, "you never know, man. You might actually enjoy it." He grinned at Ray, who smiled back at him. Ray was the nicest person in the world again and Frank loved everything.


	2. Chapter 2

At the end of his first tutoring session with Patrick Stump, an unbelievably short Junior with extremely light blonde hair which Mikey thought impossible to be natural and also the nicest guy Mikey had ever met, Mikey finally had the feeling he understood most of the math problems, almost to the extent that he thought some were easy. The way Patrick explained it made so much more sense than when his older brother did. Gerard was used to understanding everything immediately and expected others to be the same. Patrick used simple examples, making the most awesome analogies and he practically made mathematics _fun_, something Mikey had never thought was feasible. Even though Patrick was two years older than Mikey himself, conversation with him was simple and there was no sense of hierarchy, like with most older students. Any other tutor Mikey had had this year always made him feel inferior and like a dumbass. Patrick just smiled and used another brilliant analogy and told him it was okay if he didn't get it in one go, it was just a matter of learning ways to tackle puzzles or something and if you knew the ways, had the equipment, you could finish every problem.

They were sat in the school library where it was quiet and the seats were more comfortable than the terrible ones in the classrooms, which was where Mikey used to have tutoring sessions. Patrick said not many teachers liked to tutor kids because they only ever gave a crap about their salary and did the minimum amount of work to earn it, but he thought it a waste of intelligence if he didn't share his knowledge on almost every subject with kids who were less intellectually blessed than himself because he had by far the most awesome analytical brain in Belleville High School, which made mathematics easy as pie. It was a shame Mikey didn't have Patrick's brain, he also said, but there were probably loads of things Mikey was really good at that Patrick couldn't do. Mikey saw Patrick observing him and he gulped. He couldn't think of anything he was particularly good at, so he just went with, "I'm good at, uh – listening – "

But before he could finish Patrick burst into a wheezing laughter, as though he smoked or talked a lot. Mikey thought the former was likely (since Patrick's voice was rather husky and he thought he had seen a packet of Marlboro's in his schoolbag) but the latter was definitely true. He had barely gotten a word in but he didn't mind.

After regaining his breath, Patrick asked, "so what do you listen to?" kindly and still giggling. The math books were left forgotten on the table after two hours of intensive study after which Patrick said they'd continue on Monday if Mikey had any more questions.

"I don't know – mostly my brother, Radiohead and you for the last few hours," he said, grinning nervously.

"Awesome, you listen to Radiohead! My band tried to cover them but I can't nail Thom's high notes the way he does. I can reach high notes most of the time though, but Thom's voice is just way out there, you know? It's practically unattainable for anyone who isn't Thom Yorke. Hey, do you by any chance play an instrument or sing or – 'cause I'd love it if you could come to my band's practice in the auditorium. We practice Mondays, Tuesdays and Thursdays from four until six or seven, depending on Frank's mood, really. The reason we get to stay late in school is because Ray's mum is totally dating the headmaster and she's head of administration so she had the keys to pretty much anything anyway. So, what do you say? Wanna check us out? We're sort of rehearsing for the Battle in a few weeks and I know you're like totally young and everything but I'm sure you'd get along great with Frank. He moved up a year in Middle School (so he's only one year older than you, I think) – because apparently he was totally smart or something, not that you'd notice any of it now, though. He's either smoked, drank or manually destroyed any brain cells he might have once had. He's good people – you'd like him. Bob, too. Bob would like you, you don't say much and neither does he. But, you know, some things he doesn't need to say but you can tell what Bob's thinking most of the time. Well, I can, I think. Anyway, can you make it on Monday after we do some more of these math problems and get you totally prepared for the big test the week after? I'd love to see you get a good mark for it, mate. But yeah – does that sound good?"

Utterly taken aback by the seemingly endless flow of words that came out of Patrick's mouth, Mikey just nodded and smiled eagerly. He was going to get to hang out with people he'd never be able to hang out with usually. They were going to be _cool_ people, people who were in a _band_. It was totally _awesome_. After clearing away his books and slinging his schoolbag over his shoulder, he said goodbye to Patrick and checked out a _Harry Potter_ book to take home with him. He walked to the door, stopping to wave, clutching _The Prisoner of Azkaban_ to his chest. "See you on Monday!" he called, "have a nice weekend!"

Patrick waved back and opened his mouth to call something back, but when he saw the stern look on the librarian's face he quickly closed his mouth. Mikey laughed and quickly closed the door. He practically skipped to his locker.

* * *

><p>Mikey sat at the dinner table poring over his homework – math on this occasion – as he did every evening before his mum announced it was time to lay the cutlery out and to clear his schoolbooks away, but this time he actually understood what he was looking at for the first time and it filled him with intense pleasure and pride. Much to his mother's surprise, he didn't ask for help once and she insisted on bothering him asking him if he really did know what he was supposed to do and he insisted he did, his pride deflating slightly at the notion of his mother's lack of confidence in him, and he refused to disclose any information to his mother as to why all of a sudden he understood it, because he didn't want to tell her about his personal messiah Patrick, because she told everything to Gerard and his father. Mikey really didn't deem it necessary for any of them to know that he'd been fraternizing with older students. Donna always insisted Mikey needed friends his own age and Gerard would use his supreme power over half the school to make sure no one in their right mind would want to be friends with his little brother – he already did this anyway and Mikey wasn't even sure if Gerard did it on purpose or that he (Mikey) really was just a nerd that no one would like – and his father wouldn't say anything to him as usual. He knew his dad would rather he had older friends than none at all, and if he explained that Patrick was in no way one of those scary punk kids his mum was always warning him about because they had been on the news for defacing the monument outside the town hall and vandalized everything they could lay their hands on, there would be no reason at all for him not being allowed to be friends with Patrick, but he knew that his dad would never argue against his wife. She may be a nervous wreck sometimes, but she was a nervous wreck with authority.<p>

"Lay the table, Mikey," she ordered, "and clear away my nail polish for me, and those books." Mikey was used to his mum telling him what to do and he knew that to defy her was to sign his own death warrant, so he cleared his math exercises away, then he focused on getting all the bottles of various shades of fuchsia varnish into the cardboard box. He didn't know why his mother needed so many of the same colour, they were all pink at the end of the day and no one ever looked at his mother's fingernails anyway, except maybe some pervert with a finger fetish, but he was sure Terry the homeless dude lived in the park on the other side of Belleville.

Though he did suspect she was seeing someone – someone else than his own father, that is – and to his own surprise it didn't bother him, it was as though he had expect nothing else. He regarded her recent perm and re-dye (he would never have known the difference from her previous haircut if she hadn't bantered on about going to the most expensive hairdresser's in the state of New Jersey to almost anyone who would listen and anyone who wouldn't) with mixed feelings: he was afraid that all her newly bought clothes and freshly manicured fingernails and expensive haircut were the cause of some affair or that they were an attempt to start one; he was concerned for his parents' relationship, he didn't want either of them to get hurt; he was angry at his mother for being a possible adulterer; and most of all he felt guilty of being a not good enough son to his parents (i.e. his mother), not as good a son as Gerard was to them. He had heard his parents squabbling about his bad marks and lack of friends when he was lying in bed, trying to cover his ears with his pillow as to not hear anything. He didn't need to be reminded of his failures and shortcomings, especially when his parents thought he couldn't hear him and therefore thought he wouldn't be able to hear it. That's what hurt him most, really: the fact his parents weren't truthful to his face.

He knew the only reason they were still living in Belleville was Gerard's scholarship this year – and he would undoubtedly win it – and they would be leaving to live in New York, somewhere in Manhattan his father promised, by the end of next year. His mother was bragging about this to all her vapid friends in the neighbourhood and Mikey just didn't comprehend his mother's need to do this, to brag about luxuries others couldn't afford. It seemed to him she took pride in being more wealthy than most of the neighbourhood, even though the neighbourhood in question was the shithole Belleville, New Jersey. Being more wealthy than the majority of inhabitants wasn't some great achievement, in Mikey's opinion. It was just Donna's greatest pleasure in the world to be better than everyone in her vicinity. Gerard didn't exactly get it from a stranger, though he didn't do it consciously, Mikey thought.

As Mikey cut into his baked potato, he watched as Gerard talked animatedly about soccer, about the girl he was thinking to ask to prom. His parents were looking at him with the greatest interest and smiling proudly. Not able to take it anymore after ten excruciating minutes of inane football talk and the feeling of being unwanted, Mikey stuffed the last of his potato and baked beans into his mouth and went upstairs, grabbing his back as he went. Letting himself fall onto the bed, he thought about why exactly he was never going to measure up to Gerard's insanely high standards. His parents didn't deny directly that they preferred Gerard – which parent would? – but they weren't careful to show their utmost affection for Gerard in front of their other son, who had accepted if not fully consciously that they loved Gerard more for reasons first unknown to Mikey. But now he knew – or thought he did, anyway – they had once expected him to be as intelligent, as successful and as athletic and even as social as his older brother always was, or at least that he would try.

It wasn't like he didn't try, but he soon gave it up as a bad job, since he felt he could never try hard enough to get his parents' approval. He couldn't amount to Gerard's outstanding performances in almost every activity he tried. It had always been a part of Gerard, Mikey knew. Gerard was a perfectionist: he couldn't stand it if things weren't perfect so he did things again and again to become the best in everything, he hated being second best, he hated imperfections. It was just who he was and Mikey was in no position to try and change that. Mikey wasn't anything like his older brother in that aspect at all. Since he was younger, he always had the disadvantage of achieving things later than Gerard would and if he succeeded it didn't matter because Gerard had done it first.

Until today he had never been able to find something that he could be good at that Gerard could do better. He wouldn't have to live with the unbearable experience of his brother getting all the glory and himself being shoved to the side to make room for his perfect brother. He despised it but accepted it as well. There was no point being angry, it wouldn't make things any different. These situations had happened frequently in Mikey's childhood, more times than he could remember.

It really all started when he learned to talk, maybe even before that. He didn't know exactly, but one memory of obvious favoritism from his mother towards Gerard stuck out like a sore thumb in his mind.

When he was six years old, Mikey had gotten a big grownup puzzle for Christmas from his aunt and uncle who lived in Maine. He finished the puzzle in only five weeks and he was tremendously proud of himself. But as he had rushed to his mother to tell her he wanted to show the puzzle to her, he saw Gerard already standing there – he was already rather tall for his age being nine years old and Mikey knew better than to try and push him out the way, as Gerard was also much stronger and had won before in fights. He watched while Gerard showed off his own finished puzzle which was much more difficult than Mikey's own. His mother praised Gerard and said he was such a clever boy affectionately and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. He saw Gerard shoot him a sickly smile and beckon his mother towards Mikey. He said, "it looks like Mikey wants to show you something too, mummy."

To Mikey's dismay, his mum announced she was too busy to look at useless rubbish and turned around towards her boiling water to which she added a whole bag of spaghetti. Mikey looked from the yellow ends of the pasta sticking out the top of the pan to his mother with tears in his eyes.

"Please, mummy," said Mikey softly. He was stood on the other side of the kitchen and the wooden dining table stood between him and his mother. Thinking his mother hadn't heard him speak, he repeated his words but slightly louder.

"What?" she sounded irritated and Mikey took a careful step backwards. His mother was known to have a bit of a short temper.

"I just want to show you my puzzle, mummy. I finished it," he said in a small voice.

His mother whirled round red in the face brandishing her wooden spoon which was dripping red sauce onto the floor. "Do I look like I have time to look at your stupid puzzle?" she shrieked and Mikey clutched Mr Sock his teddybear which was patched in various places with his father's old socks tighter to his chest. He didn't want to cry in front of his mother or Gerard, who was leaning against the doorpost of his bedroom with his arms folded wearing a half amused half concerned grin on his face. Mikey ran back into his bedroom and stayed there until dinner. They had temporarily been living in a penthouse apartment in New York at that time, so all the bedrooms were on the same floor, unlike their current house. When he heard Gerard knock, he blatantly ignored him. He really didn't want to cry in front of Gerard. Gerard never cried. Crying was for girls, their father always told them, his boys had to be manly and he never let them forget it.

When he came out of his room for dinner, his mum was telling his father all about how naughty Mikey had been: "he knows full well not to distract me when I'm making dinner and he just went right away and did it, knowing full well I'd get angry at him and now he's crying crocodile tears, seriously, I swear we raised him the same way we did Gerard."

During dinner he mustered up the courage to ask his mum, "you looked at Gerard's puzzle, mummy, so why aren't you angry at him?"

His mother said nothing. Mikey never mentioned it again. He just knew from then on that there was something about Gerard that made his mother want to fuss over him instead of Mikey. He didn't understand it.

Although he had stopped trying to outdo Gerard – he couldn't anyway, it seemed – he was glad he had now finally found an activity that Gerard had never attempted: music. Playing or listening to music was a 'load of tosh that will never get anyone anywhere in life' according to Mikey's parents. But now Mikey was going to learn an instrument, Patrick said he could anyway. He had decided this from the moment he received the invitation to come to his band practice. Though, he still doubted whether the other guys would like it if Mikey used their instruments without having the faintest clue what he was doing. What if he broke something? He'd never be allowed back! But Patrick had said that the guys were awesome, especially Pete. Oh, how he talked about Pete, as though they had already been married for twelve years. Mikey couldn't wait to meet every single one of them on Monday.

So with the only happy thought that sustained him being that he was going to meet Patrick again in three days, that he was going to meet guys who were in a band, that he was going to be testing all their instruments, he drifted off into a restless sleep still fully clothed and unwashed.

* * *

><p>The week flew by in a blur of homework and it was Monday before Mikey knew it. He had actually planned on preparing for any of the instruments he was going to be able to play, but as he had no clue how to play any of the instruments (he had never even held a guitar before because he and his brother were brought up with the mentality that they had to be successful and make tons of money later in life and instrument playing didn't lead to either of those things) he also had no clue on how to prepare for the afternoon that loomed up ahead of him. He was unbelievably nervous, but also extremely excited, having grown up with a dream (that he would be able to play the amazing bass lines on Green Day's 1994 album <em>Dookie<em>) that was constantly crushed by both his parents. As he had no other hobbies, he spent a great deal of time online playing _World of Warcraft_ where he met people he had things in common with. One guy named Alan introduced him to the music he liked now, which included Green Day, Iron Maiden and Radiohead among others. When Mikey had had enough pocket money saved up he purchased his first iPod which became his best and only friend from the age of twelve onwards. He was ecstatic about having the chance to finally meet people who played instruments and who could probably play some songs that Mikey loved. Instead of ogling pictures online, he was now going to have the chance to physically handle an actual copy of a Gibson, or maybe even a Fender Strat! While his friends ogled naked women online, Mikey ogled beautiful guitars online, which in his opinion was so much better than naked women.

Heading quickly towards the auditorium after French class, he tried his best to calm his nerves and not to break out into a sweat. Opening the auditorium door, he took a deep breath, as though he was jumping into the deep end of a dark pool for the first time.

He didn't know exactly what he had expected, but it wasn't what he saw then: they were sat on the stage, all five of them, too close to each other to seem like a normal high school band, it was more like a group of the biggest friends Mikey could imagine. For a fleeting moment he felt a wave of anxiety rush over him. What if they didn't want him to be their friend? They seemed to be getting along just fine without him …

"Hey, great you could come," Patrick came bounding up to him like an excited puppy, "we were just tuning up so if you wanna have a look or just take a seat, I don't know what you wanna do. Just make yourself comfortable, okay? We're gonna play a few songs, easy and simple ones, just to get started. I need to warm up my voice, of course." He watched as Mikey took a seat, and reading his enthusiastic expression off his face, he exclaimed, "awesome!"

"Could I also, um – " began Mikey.

"If you want you can also try out some instruments, I'm sure Ray and Frank would love to inform you with their knowledge of guitar playing," he giggled, barely aware that Mikey had just said something. "I know you don't play anything and we all figured it'd be totally arsey of us if we just let you watch. So, what do you say?"

Mikey nodded eagerly and Patrick beamed at him, then turned his head towards the others and gave them the affirmative. Ray - Mikey recognized him immediately, Patrick had told him Ray had the most impressive head of hair in the whole school – beamed back at Patrick and picked up the most beautiful shiny black Gibson Mikey had ever seen and started to tune it.

After watching Ray adjust his guitar strings with a mixture of elegance and professionalism, Mikey's eyes flashed towards someone who could only be Frank Iero. He'd heard about him and seen him in the school corridors before Patrick had told him about him. His entire appearance just looked illegal, from his unkempt but seemingly consciously styled hair down to his trainers of which the upper parts were peeling away from the soles. Watching as Frank stubbed out his cigarette on the stage and grabbed his guitar almost lazily but with the same air of gracefulness as Ray, Mikey felt a twinge of jealousy; he felt inadequate compared to any of them. They were all extremely talented and cool-looking and he was just sat there, a goofy freshman with a too-large sweater on that once belonged to his brother. He looked like the polar opposite of Frank Iero, who looked like an ex-con and did everything in his right to look so. If he hadn't grinned cheekily at Mikey just then, shaking his multi-chromatic hair out of his eyes, Mikey would have been scared of him. He smiled sheepishly back and Frank laughed.

Mikey sat himself down in one of the horrendously uncomfortable auditorium chairs and put his schoolbag on the adjacent chair. The auditorium doors opened to show a rather short guy, smaller than Frank but taller than Patrick.

"Thank you for finally deciding to join us today, Mr. Wentz. How's the bladder?"

"Shut up, Bob. You know what my mother's like," Pete retorted. "I have to drink at least a litre of water each day or I'll get a bladder infection and my kidneys will shrivel up and my testicles will stop working." He groaned.

"Yeah, yeah, we know, just tune your bloody bass and get on with it. We've an audience to play for, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Yes, mum. Gimme a sec, where's my cable? By the way, who's the kid?" said Pete.

"The 'kid' is the subject of my math tutoring and he likes Radiohead. His name's Michael," Patrick informed Pete.

"Why didn't you tell me he was going to show up?" Pete demanded.

"I've said it about four times over the weekend, mate. You were probably on the toilet the whole time, due to your excessive drinking."

"Fuck you," Pete giggled.

"Please."

"Later, okay?"

"After you've finished on the toilet, and don't forget to drink your water otherwise your balls won't work and that would be terrible." Patrick ruffled Pete's dark hair and smiled at him. Pete grinned back at him, his hair standing up in all directions giving a rather comical effect. It seemed to Mikey that they were together, and strangely enough he felt a twinge of irrational jealousy. Though he liked Patrick and was thoroughly thankful for all his help with his math, he thought Pete very attractive and felt guilty for thinking so. He shifted about in his seat wondering whether they'd ever stop quibbling and actually start playing their instruments.

He had half a mind to leave, but then he saw Frank turn his amp on and gesture towards Ray and Pete to do the same. Patrick and Pete both climbed on stage and Patrick took the microphone in his hand while Bob fiddled with the audio switches. After Bob had scrambled behind his drum set and Pete had adjusted his amplifier to the right setting, Patrick announced they'd play Green Day's 21 Guns just to warm up a bit. Mikey instantly sat upright in his seat, feeling slightly bad about wanting to leave not two minutes ago. He knew Green Day, he knew them well but he had always liked their older stuff circa 1994 better. 21 Guns wasn't bad though, and easy to play, he thought.

They played another Green Day song, but this one older than the latest studio album and Mikey cheered them on. After a Blink song they took a short break during which Frank took out his cigarette pack again and balanced an unlit cigarette between his lips whilst still holding his guitar. He looked as though he had just emerged from the punk scene in the 60's.

"Spit that out, you're disgusting," said Bob while Frank made his way toward him, smiling lopsidedly. Bob batted him away goodheartedly after yanking the cigarette out of Frank's mouth. Frank grabbed Bob's balled fists, pushing his arms out the way and thrusting his head forward into Bob's chest. Bob was so much larger than Frank so he didn't have to duck down and the effect was rather amusing. Holding Frank's hands, Bob sidestepped and Frank landed on top of him and both landed on the floor. Frank pretended to struggle and Bob just laid there letting him.

"Hey, kid!" called Frank, helping himself up off of Bob. "Wanna try out Pansy?"

Mikey was momentarily confused until he realised that the near illegible letters on Frank's magnificent white guitar spelled out the name Pansy, which he figured must be its – her – name. He had heard of people naming their guitars and most of them figured guitars should have female names. Frank was no exception to this. Realizing Frank was waiting for him to answer him and he was just standing there gormlessly, he called back, "yeah, sure!"

"Awesome, Patrick told me you were the guitar type," said Frank helping Mikey up on to the high stage.

Having clambered to his feet, Mikey grinned at Frank hopefully. He hadn't exactly expected the guy who looked like a juvenile delinquent to be as friendly as he was but upon seeing the huge smile on Frank's face he knew there was no way possible he could dislike him. There was no denying that when the guy in front of him smiled, he looked more like an eight year old and less like an escaped criminal.

Grasping the guitar the way he saw Frank do it, he waited while Frank put the strap around his neck and released it. He panicked immediately, Pansy was really heavy. Staggering slightly under the weight of Frank's guitar, he wondered how he could possibly hold this thing for hours on end like Frank did. What if he couldn't play a single note due to not being able to hold the damn thing? What if they laughed at him? He watched curiously as Frank took over Ray's guitar and placed his fingers in an odd position on the fret board.

"This is just a power chord, they're by far the easiest, since your fingers are basically just flat and you just shred. Move your index finger down a little bit," he instructed. "Yeah, that's it. Now, strum. Great! I've always ever done rhythm guitar so for me it's mostly shredding, I gotta say. It does give me the great advantage that I can roll around on stage as long as I play the right chords, unlike Ray who has to remember solos. Ray is soloman." Frank grinned up at Ray admiringly.

They practiced a few more power chords and after half an hour Mikey had mastered the riff to _American Idiot_. It was slower than the original but he was dead proud of himself and so was Frank. When Ray told him he had talent, Mikey turned as red as Pete's sweater and grinned from ear to ear.

"No, I mean it. There's definitely something there. Not many people can pick it up that quickly, you know?" Ray slapped him on the back in reassurance and then took his Gibson back off Frank. The difference in height still really amused Mikey. Frank would look like a freshman himself if not for the illegal attire.

"Hey, Mikey? It's Mikey, isn't it?" he heard a voice from behind him. Turning round he ended up face to face – or, more precisely, face to hairline – with the guy who had had the elaborate conversation with Patrick about his bathroom habits.

"Pete, isn't it?" he replied.

"No, that's me, numpty." Pete grinned. "Don't let those guys bore you with _ordinary_ guitars. Let me show you my _bass_ guitar!" His eyes flickered towards Frank who was practically growling at him, holding Pansy like a deadly weapon.

Mikey quickly followed as Pete skipped to the other side of the stage where stood the most beautiful cherry red bass. Pete ducked to avoid a half-hearted punch from Frank, who was being restrained by Bob, who was laughing his head off by the looks of it.

* * *

><p>After washing up the risotto pan and drying off the colander, still finding bits of broccoli everywhere, Mikey climbed the stairs to his bedroom, already planning on dreaming about that fantastic cherry bass Pete had let him play, and about Pete, Pete the nice guy who had turned out to be more than just nice. He was the loveliest bloke Mikey had ever met and he was hopelessly attracted to him. Pete was a great singer and he used to play <em>World of Warcraft<em> too, so they spent a lot of time bragging about the amount of raids they'd been on. It felt really great just talking with Pete about life and interests without there having to be any rivalry or whatever. He didn't feel like he had to pretend, like he had to be someone else for him, like he had to act a certain way for him to like him. Pete liked him and he liked Pete and Pete was in a relationship with Patrick. Punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape, he considered how he had been more open with Pete than he had ever been with anyone else.

"Here, hold this," Pete thrust his bass into Mikey's hands, his smile revealing his perfect white teeth. For a moment they just stood there; Mikey holding the bass clumsily and Pete watching him, waiting for him to… to do what? It was obvious that the bass was similar to a regular guitar, but Mikey still felt slightly awkward.

Not wanting to seem like an idiot, he threw the bright blue strap over his head and held the fret board with one hand and a plectrum in the other. Pete adjusted the length of the strap for him and when the bass was finally in the correct position, Mikey felt the most peculiar sensation: a rush of immense power and rightness surged through him, something he had never felt before, not holding Pansy, never. It just felt right, like this was what he ought to be doing for the rest of his life. Staggering slightly under the overwhelming feeling, he grabbed onto Pete's sweater.

"You, too, huh?" Pete grinned at him, seemingly knowingly. Mikey frowned, _so this was a normal occurrence_? It had happened to Pete as well? This bizarre feeling of power, but also of being overpowered? He was still holding the cherry bass and was now staring at it in awe. After a while he got used to the feeling, but only a little, Pete taught him a few chords and lines still wearing a smug grin, leaving Mikey only guessing what he was thinking?

He still had no clue as to what had happened, that strange feeling of happiness mixed with power and a sort of force that led him to believe that holding a bass would be the only thing he would ever need to do to feel that way again. It was beautiful and terrifying and Mikey wanted more. Pete knew what it was, what had happened, he was sure, and Mikey decided to ask him about it next time they saw each other, if he would enlighten him. He couldn't wait until that Thursday, but the next two days would be an agonising wait. He was desperate to hold that cherry bass again.


End file.
